


Patrol and Pancakes

by SunnyD_lite



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Tag: Life Serial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-03
Updated: 2004-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-07 17:10:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnyD_lite/pseuds/SunnyD_lite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>What made Buffy think that Spike's question "Feel like a bit of the rough and tumble? " was in anyway sexual? I think I know.<br/>A friend on the Bloody Awful Gutter wanted some Spuffy smut for his birthday. He also wanted pancakes and syrup. The thought counts, right?<br/>Disclaimer: Just looked in the mirror, and nope, not Joss, not ME, not Fox or the WB, so I own none of these characters, well a random demon or two, and this is for fun not profit.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Patrol and Pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> What made Buffy think that Spike's question "Feel like a bit of the rough and tumble? " was in anyway sexual? I think I know.  
> A friend on the Bloody Awful Gutter wanted some Spuffy smut for his birthday. He also wanted pancakes and syrup. The thought counts, right?  
> Disclaimer: Just looked in the mirror, and nope, not Joss, not ME, not Fox or the WB, so I own none of these characters, well a random demon or two, and this is for fun not profit.

Walking through the tombstones, she stopped to rub some mud off her boots. She was patrolling. It was the one part of her life that still made sense. Of course it was the part of her life she'd tried to deny, but there was a simplicity to patrols that was seductive. See demon, fight demon, slay demon. No money worries, no job worries. It was, relaxing. If something was bothering her, she just superimposed an image, such as the bank manager, over the demon and then wailed away at him. So what if it was transference? Made her feel better and another demon down. Another upside, Spike often came with her.

Tonight she appreciated his company. She didn't have to worry about Spike; he wouldn't get hurt, he didn't expect her to be grateful or to be happy or anything. She could just be Buffy, though one time when she told him that he'd got an odd look on his face, like he'd sucked a lemon. No it was probably more like she worn after the tequila. Whatever.

They'd had a good night of it. A handful of vamps, a couple of who weren't so new and were looking for their one good day. They didn't find it.

And then it got interesting.

They heard them first, a slow rhythmic thumping sound. Then they saw three slate gray demons with a patina of light green lichen growing on them as they emerged from behind the duLac Crypt. They looked a bit like the Thing, but less yellow or crackled. There was a rumbling which caused Spike to laugh at what she thought was their repartee, but once they got into it, everything flowed. In a fight they moved like dancers in a well-practised pas de deux. She kicked left; he punched right. She swung her blade at a neck; he focused on taking out the knees.

"Oi! Slayer! I remember these ones now. Use your stakes."

Shaking her head at the silliness of attacking what amounted to a walking, or rather fighting, boulder with a piece of wood, she complied, aiming for the heart.

Color her surprised, it worked. From three monsters to a pile of gravel. She turned to face Spike, who was leaning against a gravestone lighting another cigarette.

"So what just happened there? And why do you know all the cool demons?"

"This lot's not native to these parts. Ran into them near the Great Lakes. Dru took a fancy to the art of the Group of Seven and wanted to see the 'weeping fir trees'. Not sure what their real names are, they never tell. But their nick name's the Taunters because..."

"Sticks and stones," she finished for him, with a smirk.

Brushing the resulting dust off her jacket, she looked around. "Do you think that's it for the night? 'Cuz I'm kinda hungry and wouldn't might knocking off early."

"Anything with any sense has heard you a mile off. Plus it's past prime feeding time. So yeah," he nodded, answering her question. "Always a bit peckish myself after a good go-round. Heading home then?"

"First, ewe. Second, nothing much at home, and third, lookie," and here she drew out a handful of folded bills. "Since I only worked construction the one day, it was for cash. And here's the cash! So I'm thinking full on carb and fat power breakfast. Wanta come with?" She wasn't sure why she extended the invitation, just that the thought of the house was claustrophobic, while the thought of spending time with Spike, wasn't.

"There's that diner down from the Bronze. I think it's open." She could feel her face scrunch up, "How is it that they're still there?"

He shrugged, "Demons like to eat too, and some, like that Clem last week, are fine with human food."

"So it's like a protection racket, then?"

They fell into matching steps, him just a pace behind, but not in an annoying way.

"Not a racket, pet. Not in this town. Some of us more dangerous types hang there; get a free meal and ensure that other dangerous types either don't drop by or don't cause trouble. More symbiotic than anything."

"Looks who's got the big vocab – sure you're not the school boy?" She asked referencing one of his comments she remembered before things went a bit cloudy. Another thought surfaced through the memories of burning tequila.

"Clem, that was the one which looked like a melting candle, right? He seemed nicer than the other ones, for a low life demon that is."

She could hear the smirk in his reply, "Well, for a low life demon, he's much better at supplying gossip than at handing out maimings. Plus he can't play poker to save his life."

As they came up to the diner some jigsaw pieces snapped together. Turning to look at him she asked, "If he can't play to save his life, why were you cheating?"

Then another piece fit and her eyes widening, "You weren't trying to impress me, were you?"

The way he ducked his head was answer enough, but before she could comment he straightened up and retorted, "Well, what if I was? Plus always good to be up a few kittens, which you owe me by the way. When I invited you along, didn't think you'd be squandering the winnings."

"At least there were no chains this time," she sighed as they entered the restaurant. She felt more than saw his start at that comment, but decided to ignore it in favor of calorific goodness.

Plunking down in one of the empty booths, she reviewed the coffee flavored menu. Yup, almost identical to where she worked as 'Anne'. Made the decision-making easier. Eggs had an unreliable consistency. Sausages had questionable origins.

Two coffee cups and saucers clattered onto the table, heralding the arrival of the waitress. Looking up at her Buffy said, "I'll have the pancakes, and extra syrup please."

The brunette waitress nodded her approval, scribbled a note then turned to Spike, who was seated across from her, asking, "Your usual?"

"Ta, fine Betty," he replied.

"You have a 'usual'? How often do you come here? I could only remember customers if they were real regulars – or really irregular."

That comment earned her a head tilt. "You, in a polyester uniform? Really can't see it, pet."

"Wasn't really the best of times. It was after the Angelus thing. Don't wanta talk about it, " she muttered. Nothing killed a pleasant mood like remembering killing a boyfriend. She blinked. Wait a sec, it had been pleasant. How had that happened?

As if he sensed her humor, Spike launched into a story about the Taunter demons they'd just fought. She didn't consciously listen to his tale; just let that dark smooth voice wash over her. Her eyes where drawn to his lips. Hmm.. .lips of Spike. What was she thinking?

Purposely disrupting his monologue, she called out to the waitress, "Could we get some coffee over here please?"

Hearing herself, she winced. It was just that impatient tone that used to drive her nuts. Well, she had enough cash to leave a decent tip and she planned to. She had someone else to make it up to as well.

"Sorry Spike, just really needed some coffee. You mentioned North Bay? Where's that?" Not that she cared, not that she'd ever see it, but it was nice listening to Spike as a raconteur – hey another college thing that stuck.

Her life felt heavier than those steel bars she'd been carrying. And here she was, twice in as many weeks spending free time with the local rep of the Union of the Big Bads. But it was relaxing around him. He didn't ask what she would do with her new life. He didn't mention bills. He didn't treat her like she'd crack. It was nice to be called 'my lady'. It wasn't possessive, more respectful. What was this train of thought and which stations was it hitting? Spike, respectful?

She gazed at him. Maybe he was. Whatever else he was definitely easy on the eyes. Oh eyes! That blue that was almost sharp enough to cut, but he hadn't cut her since.. . no they were soft when they looked at her, like a snuggly blanket.

She chuckled. Spike, the Slayer of Slayers, evil undead thing as snugglely? But parts of her kept returning to the time of Willow's will be done spell. It had felt right, not to mention hot. She started to trace the dull as homework stainless steel knife with her right hand.

Even those long sessions with Angel hadn't stirred her as much as kissing Spike while Giles couldn't see. Plus, she had known how Spike had felt, what with the lap sitting and all. Where were those pancakes?

"What's got your knickers in a knot, pet?"

The tone was humorous but warm, a gentle inquiry. So what did she do? Jump, both with the literal and metaphor.

"You can't talk about my knickers!" That was pout-y voice. Why was she using pout-y voice?

"You'd said you'd help me, and you didn't fix my life. You played poker. Badly."

He sat back as if he'd been slapped.

Of course, this was when their food arrived. A stack of three big pancakes with packages of margarine and syrup for her, chicken wings for him.

Not sure what to do, she did what came naturally. Avoided the issue in favor of doctoring the pancakes with the sweet sticky syrup and pads of butter-like goodness. She moved the pancakes so that she could treat the bottom layer, then middle layer, than top layer so that none of them would be dry. It used three of the mini-tubs of syrup, but it was the only way she ate pancakes.

"You're not going to need an insulin shot after that are you, Slayer?"

She looked up from her food and was caught in a gaze that was warmer than the pancakes. His eyebrows were so expressive, was the thought that hit her. Riley and Angel both had caterpillar eyebrows, but his almost danced above his eyes. And his cheekbones just drew your eyes down to his kissable mouth. Her turn to start. No way was she thinking about kissing Spike, about how muscular his arms were, about how he'd tried to look after her when she was drunk and fell down fighting that demon and what had he said?

"One upside of my 'sacred duty' is a fast metabolism. I can swallow anything and not worry about.." She dropped her eyes to the pancakes. Had she really just said swallow?

"Don't say I didn't warn you if you do need medical assistance," was his reply after a slight pause.

They continued their meal in silence, but a comfortable one, despite her random blushes. At one point she grabbed one of his spicy wings hoping to blame the blushes on those. He'd only sighed and then offered her another, without complaint. Was this the same guy who'd demanded to be fed in order to talk about the Slayers? There were no snide comments. No death threats. No pedestals to stand on, no undercurrent of worry that she might show him up. She was just Buffy. He was just Spike. At least until she looked up at him.

"What?" She asked as she continued to lick her syrup-covered fingers. Part of the fun was tracing shapes in the plate after she'd eaten the pancakes.

He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. "Nothing, Slayer. Are you almost done, then?"

"Yup, almost. Oh and Spike?"

He raised an eyebrow, indicating she should continue.

"You've got the sauce on your cheek, here." She pointed to her own face, just to the right of her mouth. She watched mesmerized as his tongue darted out to exactly the spot she'd indicated, curling and twisting to clean the area.

"It's good then?"

"What?"

That brought on an eye-roll. He really must have been hanging out with Dawn while she'd been dead.

"All clear?"

"Oh, yup, yup all clear. I should get home. Don't really want to be coming in as Dawn gets up."

"Right, then. Walk you home?"

"Sure, just need to settle up here –"

A hand gesture stopped her.

"What? I told you I had money. I can pay. I'll buy yours too." She felt this was more than fair on her part.

"Your money's not good here, luv. Anyway, needn't spend in on the likes of me. I'm sure there's new clothes to buy or pipes to pay for. Let's just get going."

With that he got out of the booth and, waving to Betty, walked towards the door. When he realized she wasn't following he called out, "Get the lead out!"

Here was snarky Spike. In an odd way she felt even happier than before. This was a Spike she knew, and knew where she stood. No random thoughts of kisses or muscles when he was snapping at her. She dropped a five on the table and headed home.

Tonight hadn't felt like she'd been wading through wet concrete. It wasn't what it used to be, but it wasn't bad either. Another day done. Maybe she could do this. She glanced at the black leather back of the vampire in front of her. Maybe with a little help from her friends.


End file.
